Two days later, Steven left him alone for the first time, running out to the grocery store for supplies. Against orders, Conrad used the time to shower. Finished, towel wrapped around his waist, his fingers held a cheap plastic razor. He scraped it over his scalp, front to back, by rote, something he’d done a million times in the past eight years. But now he stopped. His dark eyes focused on his image in the mirror.
He’d changed.
It was more than the narrowing of his arms, more than his chest looking a little weaker, a little pale. Something about his eyes was different. He looked less substantial somehow, less…
Less threatening.
Looking like a tough guy had been part of his life for so long that he couldn’t remember not walking into a room or a club or a street scene and making people
